


The Twenty-Fourth Sentinel Tidbits File by Many and Varied

by 852_Prospect_Archivist



Series: The Senad Sentinel Tidbits Files by Many and Varied [24]
Category: The Sentinel
Genre: M/M, Senslash Fun
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 04:56:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/794177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/852_Prospect_Archivist/pseuds/852_Prospect_Archivist





	The Twenty-Fourth Sentinel Tidbits File by Many and Varied

## The Twenty-Fourth Sentinel Tidbits File

by Many and Varied

Author's disclaimer: The characters aren't mine, these tidbits aren't mine.  
Anyone who sues over this stuff, needs their head examined.  


Pairing: J/B - mostly  
Rating: The whole range 

* * *

Tidbit #1 

* * *

"Sheeeesh.... come on, Jim... it's your turn to get the beer...." 

"I got it last time.... your turn...." 

"No, I got it last time.... you got the pizza...." 

Silence. 

"I'll tell you what.... you get the beer this time and I'll do the laundry for a week. We'll compromise. 'Kay?" 

Grins slightly and nods. Blair beams a megawatt back at him. 

Buoyed with that beautiful sight, Jim rappels down backward off El Capitan... 

Helmboy 

* * *

Tidbit #2 

* * *

"Tell me again why you dragged me up here, Chief?" Jim leaned back and attempted to get more comfortable on the smallish blanket space available. The chair he currently rested on, if three pieces of wood and a canvas covering could truthfully be called a chair, was not big enough to hold his large frame; he shifted again to let the seat back dig into a different part of his shoulder blade for a while. 

Blair rolled his eyes at his erstwhile friend while simultaneously circling an entry in the program guide nestled in his lap, and taking a large bite out of the fried beaver tail in his other hand. 

"Well, where else could we go to see Tuvan throat singers, 3 great Rom musical groups like they had in that film 'Latcho Drom', Cuban bands, Ani DiFranco, Buffy Sainte-Marie, Newfoundland Celtic groups, and La Boutine Souriant? I mean, Seattle's Bumbershoot is good, but this...wow!" 

Jim opened his mouth to ask what a throat singer did and where the hell Tuva was, but prudently decided against it. He started over again. "So, how often have you come to this?" 

'This' was the Vancouver Folk Music Festival in Vancouver, British Columbia, in Canada, just over the border from Washington, about a three hours' drive from Cascade. It was a nice city, and a great location for a festival of any kind - a public park, situated on the beach overlooking a large bay, and framed by impressive mountains in the distance. But 'here' was also in a different country, albeit a peaceful and low-populated one. To Jim's chagrin, he was slightly unnerved by the slight differences he was discovering between Canadians and Americans. 

"Naomi took me to the first festival in 1978 when I was nine. It was in Stanley Park that first year. Very cool. I volunteered for the first time when I was fifteen. But I haven't come in a couple of years. Too much else happening." 

"You volunteered? Doing what, Chief?" 

"Washing plates the first couple of years. Then, selling raffle tickets. Speaking of which, Big Guy, there's a ticket seller coming our way, and my hands are full. Would you get my wallet out and pick us up a few tickets? It's three for ten bucks, and that's Canadian, too. It's a great deal. I really want that Main Stage blanket space for next year, so I better get $20 worth." 

"Why don't I just get this round, Chief?" Jim said, reaching for his own wallet. 

"What, you don't want to cop a feel? The lovin' is gone, man." Blair flashed a mock hurt face at his guy. 

"We _are_ in public, Blair." 

"Well, that's one of the other reasons I like this Folk Festival so much, Jim." Blair put down the program guide. Popping the last of his beaver tail into his mouth, he disposed of his used napkin and turned to Jim. 

"What's that? Bla-!" Jim's exclamation was cut off by the tongue Blair brought into play part way into the kiss he laid on Jim. The hand on the back of Jim's neck soothed the tension he had started to feel when Blair initiated this very public display of affection. 

Blair broke away from the kiss. Holding onto Jim's hand, he requested softly, "Jim, look around you and tell me what you see." 

"God, Sandburg. After that, I'll probably be seeing folks getting their tar and feathers out. What am I going to do with you, anyway?" He looked around them cautiously. Frowning, he looked around again. "Chief? Why are there so many women with short hair and body piercings here? And what's with all the baseball caps they're wearing?" 

Blair chuckled. "That's it. I couldn't pick up a woman at a folk festival if I smeared myself in pheromones, but whenever I've come with a man, we could have been wrapped in each other's arms all weekend and nobody would blink. There's an extremely high queer quotient here, Jim." He smiled expectantly at Jim. 

Slowly, Jim eased into a wide grin. Pulling Blair back into his arms, he had only one word to add. 

"Cool." 

* * *

Sorry for the length. This is my tribute to the 21st Vancouver Folk Music Festival. All differences seem to be left at the gate for the weekend, and people are generally kind and generous to each other. It's my favourite time of the year, and definitely a Blair kind of place. 

Nadine 

* * *

Tidbit #3 

Obsenad: 

"Hi... yeah, I can hold." Blair drummed his fingers against the countertop, a study in naked, tousled impatience. 

A warm, hungry voice drifted down from the loft bedroom. "Don't forget onions. And pepperoni. Extra cheese, too. We earned it." 

Blair grinned, and rolled his eyes. A tinny rendition of 'The Longest Time', sung by someone who was _not_ Billy Joel, filtered unpleasantly through the phone line. 

"Extra pepperoni," the voice said again. 

"Jim, you sound like you've been drugged, man," Blair said, just a little smug, right before the music cut off. It was replaced by an acne-filled voice built for angst and aggravation. 

"Hi," it said, "Can you hold?" 

"Already held once," Blair said amiably. "I'd rather not." 

"Thanks," it answered. "Be right back." 

And the music started up again. 

"Phoneboy," Blair muttered. His mouth quirked up in a vaguely spiteful grin. "Just you wait." 

"Do they have pineapple?" 

"With pepperoni? Jim, that's gross." 

"You wore me out," Jim answered. "I'm gonna need all the food groups if I want to recover." His voice had moved; looking up, Blair was granted a view that very nearly put an end to his dinner plans. Legs spread, arms folded over the railing, Jim stood on his knees amid rumpled sheets and blankets. His smile made him look about twenty, max... 

The warmth in his eyes made him look...quite a bit older than that. //Old enough, anyway.// Blair grinned up at him, just drinking in the sight. "Oh, you want to recover," he said quietly. "I have plans that require it." 

"Excuse me?" 

Blair's eyebrows shot up, and his attention returned to the telephone with a rapidity that clanked. "I said --" 

"Could you hold pl--" 

"Large, extra cheese, extra pepperoni, onion, green peppers and canadian bacon." 

"And a coke," Jim said softly. 

"And a coke," Blair repeated dutifully. There were worse things than an aroused sentinel on stimulants. 

A world-weary, long suffering sigh trailed across seconds from the Round Table down the street. "Address please," Phoneboy said, sounding as if his life had been ruined. 

Eyes locked with Jim's, linked to Jim by rising warmth, Blair answered absently, trailing a hand down the center of his chest. The warmth was heat now, escalating toward passion. 

"Thirty minutes or less," the voice whined from the phone. 

Blair laughed, a rumble born deep in his chest. 

"Make it forty-five," he said, "and the tip will be worth it." He replaced the phone in its cradle, then looked back up at Jim. "One with everything?" he said quietly. 

As Jim's grin spread, Blair switched the ringer off. 

And started up the stairs. 

\--Merry  
(having pizza for dinner tonight, natch!) 

* * *

Tidbit #4 

* * *

"Itsy-Bitsy Teeny-Weeny Leather/Chain Mail/Lace Bikini"  
Words: David Weingart (c) 1991,1996  
Music: "Itsy-Bitsy Teeny-Weeny Yellow Polka-Dot Bikini" (???)  
(pronouns changed for your convenience) 

He was afraid to come out of the Green Room  
He was embarrassed what someone might see  
He was afraid to come out of the Green Room  
He didn't realize how small it would be  
(two three four, tell the filkers what he wore)  
It was an itsy-bitsy, teeny-weeny leather/chain mail/lace bikini  
That he wore for the con masquerade  
An itsy-bitsy, teeny-weeny leather/chain mail/lace bikini  
So in the Green Room he's going to stay  
(two three four stick around we'll tell you more)  
He hid backstage all wrapped in the curtains  
He didn't want anybody to know  
He was afraid there was too much exposure  
He didn't want all his flesh in the show  
It was an itsy-bitsy, teeny-weeny leather/chain mail/lace bikini  
That he wore for the con masquerade  
An itsy-bitsy, teeny-weeny leather/chain mail/lace bikini  
So hiding backstage he's going to stay  
Now he's embarrassed to walk down the runway  
He doesn't want all his parts on parade  
And if he's this nervous just for the run-through  
Wait 'til 8 and the main Masquerade!  
It was an itsy-bitsy, teeny-weeny leather/chain mail/lace bikini  
That he wore for the con masquerade  
An itsy-bitsy, teeny-weeny leather/chain mail/lace bikini  
So off the runway he's going to stay  
From the Green Room out to backstage  
From the curtains to the stage  
From the stage he hears the cheering  
Can't wait 'til the Masquerade! 

* * *

"Hey," said Blair, "I thought that was my costume." 

Jim looked up from adjusting his greaves as Megan came out of the dressing room. Actually, he'd been watching his partner's curly head bob and sway with the faint music from the other hall, having used the excellent excuse of not understanding his armor to get Blair kneeling in front of him, 'helping' him dress for this undercover assignment. Pity the metal acted like a chastity belt; Blair had had to settle for running nimble fingers up and down his thighs. 

Megan smirked at the grad student as she spun in place to show off the billowy black pantaloons and robe. "Mine didn't have any place to carry a gun holster concealed. And since you _refuse_ to carry a weapon, it's all yours." She dumped a heavy-looking bag into Blair's arms. Intercepting Jim's look, she added, "Go get dressed _alone_. We're already late." With a mournful sigh, Blair went. 

Grumbling himself, Jim quickly and efficiently pulled on the rest of his lightweight armor, checking that the draw was clear from his shoulder holster once he'd swirled the cloak over the top of it all. 

The door to the dressing room slammed open. 

"No room to hide a gun?!" Blair's outraged voice demanded. "Hell, there's no room to hide _anything_ in this! Where the hell is the rest of it, Megan?" 

Megan laughed. "That's all there is, Sandy." Angry blue eyes peered from the edge of the doorway. "Now you see why I'm not wearing it." 

"Oh, and you expect _me_ to parade around in this?" 

"C'mon, Chief, what is it?" Jim asked. 

"What is it? What is it? It's just this side of nothing at all, Jim!" 

Blushing furiously, Blair stepped out into plain view, and quite a view it was. 

* * *

\--cmshaw 

* * *

Tidbit #5 

Obsenad: 

"Ow!!!" 

"Stop reading over my shoulder." 

"You didn't have to poke me in the eye, Chief." 

"You're invading my personal space." 

"I just want to read that story. . ." 

"Look, Jim, we made an agreement. You get the computer from 7:00 to 7:45 and I get it from 7:45 till 8:30. It was your idea, not mine. You're the one who has to have a rule about everything." 

"There's no need to get nasty. Anyway, it's a stupid story. Joxer/Ares? That's taking slash a little too far." 

"Oh? You seemed mighty interested in it a minute ago." 

"Well, I was hoping Xena would be in it." 

"Yeah, sure." 

"If you're going to be like that, I'm going to bed. Goodnight, my little centaur." 

<brief pause> "Well, I'm done. Hey, Jim, let's get the saddle!" 

\--the end -- 

blarney stone 

* * *

Tidbit #6 

Obsenad: 

"Man, you should see the trees. That was a hell of a storm last night." 

Jim smiled at the memory of his young lover clinging to him in the dark. 

"Oh, was there a storm outside too?" 

"Cute. Hey, you're the one who wanted to be distracted..." 

"You can distract me like that anytime." 

"Yeaah... Oh SHIT!!" 

"What?" 

"My modem is fried - shit, like I have the money for that - never mind the time..., oh god and the mail..." 

"I thought you unplugged everything?" 

"I did but I left the phone jack connected - who knew?" 

"Blair, you're a smart man - you know how the phone works..." 

"Jim, I'm hurting here, okay, don't lecture me... Do you realise that this means until I can get a new modem I won't be able to get on line? Do you realise how much time I spend on line?" 

<mumble, mumble> "To the second." 

"I mean I'll catch up - but the hours of work that won't get done - man, this could take days...Jim why are you looking at me like that?" 

Jim advances. "Days with you not on line? All that time you would normally spend tucked away on the net...what ever will you do to wile away the hours?" 

"I suspect you have thoughts on the matter?" 

"Thoughts, desires, a couple of wild fantasies...care to act out a few?" 

"How wild?" 

"Well, until you replace your modem, how about a game of rogue cop and captive?" 

"Modem? What's a modem?" 

Marag 

* * *

Tidbit #7 

Obsenad: 

**"YES!"**

Jim looked over at Blair jumping up and down in front of the computer. 

"What has got you so excited?" 

"Umm. Remember how I am helping a friend move and will be gone for a few days? Well, there is a show she tapes for me, and there are two episodes she missed. The one will play before she has to stress about finishing packing and the other well after she's unpacked. 

"And why can't you just tape it here?" 

"Not carried here." 

Cynara 

* * *

Tidbit #8 

Obsenad: 

**"NOOOO!!!!!"**

Jim's butt cleared the couch as the love of his life screamed. Bolting into the small bedroom-turned-office, he found Blair slumped over his laptop, slowly rolling his head back and forth on his folded arms. 

"Babe?" Jim knelt beside his distraught lover. "Blair...honey, what is it? Did your computer crash?" 

"No," came the sorrowful voice. 

"Did you get bad email? Did someone die?" 

"No." 

"Did you lose a file?" 

"No." 

"Well...what is it then?" 

"The story's gone." 

"Story? What story?" 

"WHAT story? That fabulous 20+ part crossover, man! The one I've been reading for the last two weeks! My link doesn't work anymore." 

"Ohhh," Jim said, not really getting it. He leaned forward and touched his lips to Blair's nape. "Anything I can do to make you feel better?" 

A low chuckle came from the hidden face. "Maybe." 

Jim grinned and slipped his arms around the slim figure, pulling Blair back against his chest. "Come on, let's go upstairs. I'll tell you a new story." 

"With bondage?" asked the hopeful voice. 

"Sure....grab the cuffs." 

\--The End 

MR 

* * *

Tidbit #9 

Obsenad: 

"You're awfully quiet. What are you watching, Chief?" 

"New cop show. Sins of the City. It's about a guy who is a cop, or rather was a cop. He quits to become a private detective when the job starts to mess with his moral codes." 

"Wuss." 

"No way, man, this Vince guy is really cool." 

"Yeah, real cool. He looks like one of those Versace slut-boys rather than a real cop." 

"Hey man, we know all cops from Miami are cool and hot looking. Just look at Sonny and Rico!" 

"Chief, don't speak to me about Miami Vice. We are not going to get into it again about how severely dead those two would be if they tried any of that "cool" shit on the job." 

"Okay, Jim. It's just that I don't see anything wrong with a detective dressing well. Take Rafe for instance. If he dressed like that he'd _really_ be noticed." 

"Rafe?" 

"Yeah. He's just a good looking as this guy, and if we got him into some decent clothes, Hugo Boss maybe, he'd be so hot!" 

"Rafe?" 

"It'd be really good for his career. You know, dressing for success in the '90's." 

"You think Rafe is hot looking?" 

"Not as sexy as this Vince guy, but yeah, he's a wax-melter for sure. In the right clothes, Rafe'd be positively incendiary." 

"You've given this a lot of thought, have you?" 

"Well, we spend a lot of time talking about it." 

"You talk to Rafe about how hot he looks?" 

"Sure. We talk all the time. He's very anxious to get ahead." 

**"WHAT?"**

"What?!" 

"He's very anxious to get HEAD? Bastard! I'll kill him!" 

"Jim! No! I said _a_ head. _A_ head. A promotion, Jim!" 

"I think I'd better have a talk with Rafe." 

"No, Jim. The last time you had one of your "talks" with someone down at the station, you narrowly avoided being hauled in front of IAD." 

"I'm sorry, Chief, but you did NOT need your own private tour of the sub basement storage rooms. And you do NOT need to be consulting with Rafe over the "hotness" of his wardrobe." 

"Jim, are you feeling jealous about Rafe?" 

"No." 

"Murderous?" 

"...." 

"Jim you didn't answer that." 

"No, I didn't." 

"Come on, man, you know Rafe's not my type." 

"Oh sure, that Vince guy isn't your type either. You just don't go for the buff, young male model types at all. That big drool spot on your shirt is the result of a sudden loss of muscle control around your mouth area." 

"Neither of them are my type. My type wears white socks with too short pants, has a receding hair line, a body to die for, and a temperament like a disgruntled goat." 

"I'm not feeling complimented here, Sandburg." 

"My love, all you have to do is execute the smallest biceps flex and I am locked in the Ellison Zone until my big, studly Sentinel releases me." 

"Are you done watching this stupid show?" 

"Not really. Why?" 

"Oh, <flex> no reason. <flex, flex>" 

"I'll catch it on the rerun." 

<click!>

* * *

:)  
Mick C. 

* * *

Tidbit #10 

Obsenad: 

Blair was chuckling as Jim walked through the door. 

"Chief?" 

Blair glanced up, the glimmer of amusement still in his eyes. "Look," he said, gesturing toward the screen. Jim read the list post, then read it again, then directed a puzzled glance at his love. 

"I gotta admit, I'm with her. What's the difference between P/C and C/P? Is there one?" 

"Oh, yeah, there's a _big_ difference." Blair grinned and went on, 

"See, in romantic pairings, the first initial usually stands for the highest ranked of the two. Like in the original Kirk/Spock." He leaned back into the broad chest as Jim settled behind him on the sofa, and absently caressed the arm that slid around his waist. 

"So when you're talking about Star Trek: Voyager, the convention is P/K for Paris/Kim, but for Chakotay/Paris it would change to C/P." 

"Yeah, I get where you're coming from, Chief. But... why would that make it "traumatic" for someone to stumble on P/C instead of C/P? It's just a typo, right?" The hand attached to the arm began exploring the fascinating differences in texture between the shirt and the warm body it concealed. 

"Mmmm, yeah. . . Uh, not exactly. In Trek fic, there _is_ an established P/C pairing. But it's not Voy, it's TNG. Picard/Crusher -- and _no_ ," he shuddered briefly. " _Not_ Wesley. Beverly." 

The other man paused in his attentions. "So someone expecting to read a nice hot m/m story about Chakotay and Paris ends up--" He began to grin. "Ends up reading m/f about Picard and Beverly Crusher." "You got it. Not that some of those aren't pretty hot, too, but -- they're definitely _not_ m/m." Blair maneuvered on the sofa until he was facing Jim. "And you know, lately, I've found that I _really_ prefer m/m. . . " 

The two regarded each other for a moment, only a few tantalizing inches apart. 

"So, your idea of hot m/m would be. . . ?" Jim inquired softly. Darkened blue eyes gave him the answer before any words were spoken. " _Us_ ," Blair said, as he leaned in to meet his Sentinel's waiting mouth. 

Noon 

* * *

Tidbit #11 

Obsenad: 

"Y'know, those guys kinda remind me of us... in reverse, though." 

Jim looked up to see where Blair's channel-surfing had led him. Simon and Simon, that old detective show. "Us? Only backwards?" 

"Yeah, the anal guy who's great-looking, and the impulsive guy who's not." 

Jim sighed, still amazed that Blair didn't get his attractiveness. 

"So, ya think they were lovers too?" Blair rambled on. 

"What? No, they were not lovers. They're brothers!" 

"So?" 

"So brothers don't become lovers!" 

"Uh, Jim, why not? It seems pretty natural to me, I mean, if they wanted to go that way. I could see those two together," he gestured at the screen where Jameson Parker (he was pretty cute, Jim had to admit, all blond hair and boyish grin. Must be first season.) and Gerald McRaney (something about balding guys, Blair?) walked along the sidewalk and into another case. 

"But it's incest," Jim protested, feeling obligated to defend his objections to this completely unrealistic pairing. 

"Oh Jim, incest between siblings is basically a taboo set into place to prevent extensive inbreeding. Those two aren't gonna be getting each other pregnant! I mean, incest between generations can get into that whole manipulation thing, and I'm not into that, but these guys, I mean, they obviously love each other, and they're obviously an even match, so they're not manipulating each other." Blair took a moment to climb into Jim's lap, straddling him, television forgotten. "Besides, can't you just imagine that taller guy taking his hands, running them into the smaller guy's hair, holding him still while he kisses him, can't help himse-" Blair was cut off by a powerful kiss, hands threading into his hair to hold him still. 

"Let's not watch TV for a while, okay, Chief? I don't want to hear your thoughts on," Jim plucked a TV show at random from his memory, "Battlestar Galactica." 

"Oh man, that Starbuck, did he have a jones for Apollo....." 

\--end 

Ann 

* * *

End Sentinel Tidbits file #24.

 


End file.
